Gail Sealy--Anointment

Thus proceeded our group chant to Ganesh, the supreme Hindu deity, ending our twice-daily, yoga and meditation ritual at the Saraswathi Yoga Farm in San Fernando Valley, California. It was 1993; and I was on a three-week, spiritual sojourn, to purify and empower my mind and body in preparation for a high-risk, brain surgery scheduled in 2 months. The surgeon would excise a tumor which, if allowed to grow, could paralyze me. The newly pioneered, surgical approach also carried its own risk of paralysis or death, if poorly executed. And rather than succumb to worry about my diagnosis, my impetus was to mount a multi-frontal assault - medical, religious, and spiritual. The yoga and attendant deep breathing exercises that I learned at the Ashram ushered in blissful states of mental blankness through which I could mentally direct my immune cells to dissolve the tumor.

I quickly developed a comfort level with my fellow guests at the Ashram, who were also seekers of truth and healing, beyond conventional medicine. Many were in my age-range – early-mid-thirties - and all struggled with a range of maladies, including cancer diagnoses and recovery, alcohol addiction, and mental breakdowns.

On medical leave in the U.S., from a job with the United Nations in Nigeria, I was also regaining my emotional equilibrium after a toxic romantic relationship with Alula, my then partner. He had been a possessive, 50-year-old diplomat from the Horn of Africa, some 15 years my senior, who abhorred my Caribbean, social ease with the opposite sex. He would belligerently interrogate me about any social occasions spent with male acquaintances or friends and even had me under surveillance when he travelled. I knew this because he would insinuatingly question me about casual lunches or dinners which I had during his absence, noting the exact dates and venues. Fearful of his jealous rages, I shunned my free-spirited and cosmopolitan friends, and found myself limited to his small and stifling diplomatic circle. I was also cut off from direct communications with friends and family in the United States and Jamaica since personal calls were not allowed from the office; and international calls could only be made via an operator at a public kiosk in downtown Lagos. Here one stood stand in line –in rainforest like temperatures- for over an hour – at a time, jostling with irascible locals, who competed for limited time slots with the elusive, international operator. I also suffered tremendous anxiety from my work life. Following a promotion, I was on my first overseas assignment, and struggling to succeed, I put in 14-hour workdays. The physical office itself was itself in such disrepair that the lavatories were out of order. The despotic Manager, Mr Afsah (also from the Horn of Africa) thrived on berating his staff, particularly my gentle and self-effacing Tanzanian supervisor. I shared a small office with a gregarious Nigerian economist - whom local academics and job seekers came by the score to visit, given her prestigious job in the United Nations. And she was ever gracious, initiating an elaborate, full-throated, conversational dance in English and Yoruba, which required a good twenty minutes of exchanges on the health of the family, before any substance was discussed. I do not know when she produced any work; but I was only able to concentrate on mine after her departure, staying late into the night, to keep up with the demands. When I developed an ovarian cyst which required emergency surgery, Mr Afsah, denied my request and entitlement to medical evacuation in Europe on the informal grounds that I was faking the illness. Alula was on assignment back in his home country during this period, and I ended up having the procedure done in Lagos. The surgeon removed an ovary but omitted this salient fact from his verbal and written reports.

Settling into the Ashram’s daily routine of yoga, meditation, walks, and communal, vegan meals, I felt great freedom in being anonymous in a community of seekers of enlightenment. But I agonized that our lilting chants to Ganesh’s garlanded statuette on the altar constituted a betrayal of my Christian faith. Having begun extensive spiritual investigations after my diagnosis, I was fixated on my rediscovery of Christ’s teachings on faith and healing. Like the woman who touched the hem of Christ’s garment in the Gospel of Matthew, I too became convinced that my faith would catalyze my healing. However, Ganesh and Christ were clearly irreconcilable divinities. Finally, at one morning’s circle time, I summoned the courage to ask, “I know we are not a religious group, but we seem to be worshipping Ganesh.” The leader responded blandly, “Ganesh represents all pure spirits.” Dissatisfied with the response, I resolved to abjure any future chanting or obeisance to Ganesh

The Ashram community eagerly awaited and discussed the planned 2-week stay of a celebrated, Ayurvedhic Master Practitioner, whom we were told would provide us with customized consultations and treatments. Envisioning a frail and ascetic-looking figure, I sat, mouth agape, when Luke Simmons strode into our meeting hall on the day of his arrival. Six feet-tall, with espresso colored skin, cascading dreadlocks and rippling biceps outlined under a sleeveless, ankle length, linen tunic, he was a virile presence. Sporting a distressed leather knapsack and guaracha sandals, he gave a large, open smile and scanned the room with frank curiosity.

“Greetings, friends, I’m Luke Simmons, and thanks for allowing me to spend the next few weeks here, getting to know you and, hopefully, helping you to know yourselves better. I will share my knowledge of the ancient healing powers of Ayurveda, and we will work together to achieve balance in your mind and body.” From his clipped enunciation, I inferred he had some British influences. “I look forward to having one-and-one sessions with some of you and discover if there is any diet or lifestyle imbalance affecting your health and wellbeing.”

He turned to look at me and smiled. “You can call me, Luke. Actually, I was actually born on the Caribbean Island of Trinidad and came to the United States for college.…And – I detect an accent - where are you from?”

“I’m Jamaican…we are fellow islanders”, I responded cheerily, delighted at our unlikely cultural connection.

“Well, you’re the first Caribbean woman I’ve ever met in an Ashram. So, pleased to meet you”. he said, nodding at me. And then he proceeded to make eye contact with others in the audience.

“I’ve spent over 7 years travelling and studying in India, learning the cardinal texts and practices of Ayurveda, Charaka Samhita, Sushruta Samhita, Ashtanga Sangraha, and Hridayam. We will spend a great deal of the two weeks on the kayachikitsa, which concentrates on ensuring your ability to absorb and assimilate nutrients. This is fundamental to overall well-being. “

Anna, an attractive and serene blonde, in her late twenties, raised her hand: “So, do you live in California?

“So, Anna,”, he continued. “Nice to meet you. I’m a student of sociology at UCLA. But Ayurveda is my healing mission and life purpose. I’ve travelled for the past 5 years to several Ashrams across the country with this mission.

: Anyone care to volunteer and tell me why you’re here and if you hope to sign up for some Ayurvedhic therapy?” Several people introduced themselves, but I decided to wait.

By the end of his introduction, he seemed to have won over the room and received great applause. After the meeting, Anna, confided to me, “Luke is really impressive!”

“Yes”, I agreed, stifling my mild resentment that she had won his attention. He has that confident, laid-back Caribbean style”. I was intrigued and eager to learn what treatment he would design for me, confident that it would complement my growing panoply of spiritual and naturopathic interventions. To date, these were Catholic healing masses; Reiki and Japanese Jori- healing treatments; yoga/ meditation; intentionality in my indulgence in dance and the arts, as immune-system enhancers. Added to this list, Luke’s Ayurveda might generate some magic or - at worst – indigestion!

He held our first consultation, two days’ later in an outdoor nook at the base of a secluded hill on the ranch. We sat facing each other on two benches in the savannah- like grass.

Feeling my old flamboyant self, I had wound a saffron-colored scarf around my head and wore large, silver earrings reminiscent of African shields.

I continued, “If it goes badly, I can be paralyzed on one side of my body I am also practicing visualization and connecting with my immune cells so that the tumor will come out easily. If any is left behind, it can grow again.”

He took my hand: “I admire how you’re handling this. I think Ayurveda can definitely help you through this challenge.”

“So, let’s do some diagnosis.” He asked me a series of detailed questions about my eating, sleeping, exercise, and work habits, taking diligent notes and drawing diagrams on a notepad.

Pitta controls digestion metabolism and energy production. Having a dominant pitta gives you your fiery nature that also reveals itself in your body. So, are you fiery?

I explained how I had become a workaholic in Nigeria to prove myself and had internalized my frustrations.

He pored through his notes and stared at me…” Hmmm…So that could explain your digestive problems?”

A little embarrassed, I asked, “How did you know I had digestive problems?”.

“It’s all in your profile…Not to worry, I will make up a nice compound for you - with turmeric root, coriander seed, and cumin seed. You must have it twice a day before meals.”

“If you keep up this yoga regimen and use this compound, your digestive system will be in greater balance… Now we have to work on those immune cells.”

I felt comfort in being able to share intimate details about myself and be understood but also unnerved by my attraction to him.

The next day after meditation, Luke corralled a group of 8 to prepare a large vat of mung bean soup which was to be the mainstay of the community’s diet for the one-week program. I joined in and set the table for lunch. He made the preparation a joyful affair by recounting tales from his India travels and promising us how great we would feel after the fast.

At supper that evening, where we all sat on benches at broad, trestle tables, he sat beside me and took the occasion to tell me: “Oh, yeah and – you can eat goat meat when you get back home”

‘Yeah, I know”, he said. “We ate that a lot growing up in Trinidad too…. Do you cook?” he asked, looking at me with a playful glint in his eye.

“Not Caribbean food,” I answered, feeling mildly inadequate, “but I grill salmon really well.”

“Hmmm”, he said. “That’s ok”. It had become obvious to many that we had a special connection. Maybe it was that Caribbean culture, they must have wondered. They couldn’t be sure. On reflection, I think that our common cultural background and middle class, Caribbean education gave Luke and I ready norms and references which enabled a free flow of conversation, humor and intimacy.

At our next session, Luke began: “We haven’t delved into the realm of relationships. Are you comfortable with that?”

I hesitated but decided to tell him about Alula and how I had to restrict my friendships for harmony in the relationship. “I guess, between work and Alula, I basically shut down my essential self”.

“Hmmm”, he said. “Maybe that tumor was your psyche’s revolt at being suppressed”.

This profound insight was a eureka moment. “Oh, my gosh…Yes! I so took myself for granted and my body said, “enough” …. My definition of success was all wrong. Was it worth sacrificing myself? A loveless relationship and burying myself in a warped work environment?”

“Well, your body sent you a warning…and you’re heeding it with all this great spiritual work…So don’t be hard on yourself”. There was a short silence and then he continued.

“I was thinking that some anointing will soothe the doshas and further open the channels to your brain to healing.”

“It’s Shirodhara an ancient Ayurvedic therapy in which I’ll pour warm medicated oil on to your forehead. It treats nervous system disorders, depression.. And it has the benefit of making you feel rejuvenated. But first you have to take an herbal bath.”

“Really? you mean, a bush bath!? I asked half mischievously, referring to a Caribbean tradition, believed to ward off evil spirits and cure possessions.

“Well, the delivery is the same; but the purpose is different. This bath is a mind-body cleansing.”

“Mm… it sounds quite the treatment”, I replied.… “So, when can we do that?”

“Tomorrow…? If you come at 3 in the afternoon, I will have it ready in the bathroom by the studio, and you can just rinse it over your body, dry off; get dressed. And we then I shall do your anointment!”

The next afternoon we met in his small consultation room, which was a converted space, set up behind the yoga studio. I was intrigued to see - on the bathroom floor - the large, ceramic basin, half filled with steaming water, colored by a wet mass of dried leaves and flowers in front of the sink. There was a comforting waft of eucalyptus. I undressed, and doused my body with the liquid, using a neatly folded washcloth. As I inhaled the comforting eucalyptus and other herbal scents, I was transported to an early childhood memory of my mother taking me, clandestinely, to a “bush bath” in my home country, Jamaica, when I was about eight years old. That experience was considered taboo, and I had sought to expunge it from memory. Now, here I was- willingly- submitting to a similar ritual – but one which had the imprimatur of a revered (if not peer-reviewed) medical practice. Dressed and back in the surgery with Luke, I sat on the gurney while he opened a large, compartmented suitcase with various unlabeled medicaments. Bringing a small, green bottle, he instructed, “Now, inhale deeply and fast each time you get a drop - one in each nostril…This compound will clear your sinuses and give an opening for deeper state of consciousness.” As he administered each drop, I winced from the momentary, burning sensation in my nostril, which morphed into a surprising clearing in my sinuses. “Pretty powerful”, I said while trying to compose myself.

“Now; close your eyes and lie on your back for the massage”. His tone was softer. He then proceeded to silently knead both my shoulders with oil, which smelt vaguely of sandalwood, followed by brisk, alternating, upward strokes on either side of my neck. The steady rhythm induced a deep relaxation which untethered me from time and space. All was silent and still. I opened my eyes, and turning on my side, saw Luke seated on the floor, cross legged with his eyes closed. Sitting up, I exclaimed, “Oh my goodness. What happened? I was asleep!?How long was I out?”

“About 15 minutes”, he said, with an amusing chuckle. “Not to worry. That’s all good. Part of the healing.”

“Amazing,” I said stretching my arms.” I had no idea when I drifted off…”

“Ready for Phase III?”, he asked. “Now, just lie down again – this time on your back and close your eyes. Standing behind me, he stooped and proceeded to gently drip a continuous stream of the warm oil in slow, circular motions over my forehead, through the crown of my head down to the nape of my neck with his index finger. As his finger glided down the bridge of my nose to my upper lip, an electric energy grew palpably between us – and I yearned for him to kiss me.

Then he leaned over and ever so lightly kissed me gently on the lips. After I opened my eyes and responded with a full-on kiss, surrendering my tongue. After a few seconds, he pulled himself away and said, “I’m sorry; that was so wrong…I don’t know what came over me”. I reached out and held his hand and said, “I wasn’t complaining”. We embraced again and exchanged soft, intermittent kisses seated on the gurney. I felt my rational self-dissolve, as I began the abandon of reason.

“Yes” … I responded. I have my own room – No 6 – it’s the only one by the west wing”. ‘

I stifled any judgment about our assignation. “What was there to lose? Physical release, sensual connection – all are in the healing realm”, I rationalized.

At 9 :30 I opened the door to his gentle knock. Our initial kiss and tender embrace rapidly accelerated. All that yoga and vegan purity seemed to have generated a primal energy in me. Ablaze with desire, I yielded to his possession, overcome by his heady scent of wood, and cinnabar; and we devoured each other with abandon. My pent-up fear, anguish, and struggle to maintain a calm reserve – in the face of my terrifying diagnosis - were released in my piercing and crescendoing screams. He tried to stifle them with the pillow. “Someone might come running to assist”, he said half seriously. Mercifully, no one came. Later, as I nestled under his chin in his comfortable embrace, I murmured,

“Well….my last relationship was a nightmare. I had no physical desire for him and just went through the motions.

“Well, I wanted the security of the relationship…. He made things comfortable for me and claimed devotion but wanted to control and change me”.

At about 4 am, he kissed me on the check and crept out of the room. We exchanged meaningful smiles in public, as we continued with our separate routines. He came to my room for the next 2 nights, which were the last of his stay, and I continued to ride the waves of my rediscovered sensuality. On the last evening, he said… “Meeting you here is its own magic”, he said. “That I should have met you here - my goddess - in the midst of hippie-land…”

We spoke about his life in California. He was unmarried and father to two children with a college professor. After viewing the photos of his gorgeous, honey-kissed 7- and 6-year-old girl and boy, I began to feel that familiar pang of alienation. He had his life and children in California, – was there space for me? After the seduction - even if a joint seduction – I found myself becoming an emotional marionette – yet again, dependent on my lover for completion. Maybe he could be that soulful, life-partner. I yearned to hear him say that he wanted us to be together. I gave no thought about how my UN career (then in Africa) would accommodate it, but I was willing to begin weaving a path with him.

“You will be back in Washington DC, and Nigeria later, won’t you? With my life on the West Coast, I don’t see how we can easily. But we will speak. “I want to know how the treatment works, and your surgery goes, of course”.

Pained by his ready acceptance of our situation…it was clear he wasn’t willing to fight for us, I struggled to fight feelings of rejection. I feigned light-heartedness in my response.

As he recounted the majesty of his drive home along the coastal road of Big Sur, I longed for nothing more than to take that drive with him. But I said nothing. We hugged, and he departed the Ashram the next morning. I felt a numbing sense of loss.

On my return to Los Angeles the next day, my girlfriend Lizzie’s rapturous welcome and non-stop interrogation, took the edge off my heartache When Luke called me two days later Lizzie’s landline (this was pre-cellphones), we exchanged warm pleasantries. But he made no professions of love; and so, I withheld mine. When I flew to my sister’s home in Washington DC a week later, I continued my yoga rituals and dutifully took my Ayurvedic potions. My emotional longing for Luke gradually receded over the succeeding weeks, as I intensified preparations for my imminent operation – with twice weekly sessions of guided imagery by a therapist; occasional healing masses led by Catholic priests (when, upon being touched on the forehead by the Priest, I would faint and be caught by specially positioned “catchers); daily home-based yoga, meditation, and ingestion of my customized ayurvedic compound; Vedic astrology readings which enabled me to change the first date of my surgery when Mercury was likely to be in Retrograde; and enjoying the comfort of family and friends. Armed to do battle with the tumor, I also gloried in my sensual re-connection, the priceless divided from Luke’s anointment. I gave thanks to Ganesh.

I am Jamaican by birth where I lived till age 19 and naturalized American citizen. I am an independent consultant on human resources management for various Programmes of the United Nations and work from home in Silver Spring, Maryland, USA. I have a 23 year old son whom I adopted as a single woman. I am in the process of writing a book which comprises captivating stories from my life in the form of vignettes. My writing is infused by my global perspective, while honoring my Caribbean, cultural roots. I have no published work but feel that I have stories which readers will enjoy. I began writing recently after retirement in 2022, despite having yearned to do so over a lifetime. For most of my adult life I've been told that I need to write, both because of my interesting life and my ascribed gifts as a writer. So, I hope you will enjoy my submission. Thank you.